Saturday, March 21, 2009

dance on my grave; you are allowed.

a fleck

of dry skin flies off me and into the air. after a few twisty turns, it ends up in a garbage can. the garbage is taken out, and the sanitary engineers collect it. at this point, it's a crapshoot. no one really knows where it will end up exactly, i guess they have the zoning charts. by now the fleck is more or less gone; having mixed with the different juices found in garbage, it's almost not there. but i see it.

the "juice" enters the ground, and as all water sources are interconnected, it ends up in the ocean. by now the fleck is seen only on the particle level. like air, it no longer has any physical properties, tangible or visual.

water evaporates.

our little fleck, smaller (much smaller) than it used to be, is now flying again. it droops and sways and twirls. continuously rising, it hits the atmosphere, the ozone. our friend, the fleck (or speck by now... yes, he will be the speck from now on) has somehow ridden the coattails of matter up up and away into space. it's very cold for a speck of flesh, but on the molecular level, it doesn't seem to matter much. time doesn't exist for a speck in space, so let's jump a few hundred years.

our speck has reached pluto. is it still pluto? i think it's a moon now, with a numerical name. anyway, the speck is dwarfed by this planet, but heck, he was dwarfed by a blade of grass on his home planet. so insignificant, now, is the speck, relative to pluto.

the thing about pluto is, relative to our home star, it's a miserable fucking speck too. and the sun is a miserable fucking speck in comparison to the whole fucking galaxy, and the galaxy is a fucking shitstain on the undergarment that is the universe.

but the speck matters to me.

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